The Snow Covered with Peonies
by littlemaiko
Summary: The story of the Young McDohl and his encounter with a madman who may be the one to take his accursed life. Based on Suikoden bad-ending. Completed.
1. The Snow Covered with Peonies :: Prologu...

DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series are properties of Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.  
  
NOTES: Spoiler for Suikoden 1 and 2. Based on Suikoden 1's "bad ending". Japanese winter peonies, or "kantsubaki", are culturally seen as bad luck because of the way the flowers fall off. "Bocchan" is Japanese for "Young Master" and refers to Kohaku McDohl, the hero of Suikoden 1.  
  
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The Snow Covered with Peonies :: Prologue  
by littlemaiko  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ah, Bocchan, please don't bring peonies into the house."  
  
"Peonies?"  
  
"Those flowers you have in your hands. They are bad luck."  
  
"Why, Gremio? They are so pretty! See, they fall clean from the shrub... no stubbly thorns or stems."  
  
"They are called 'beheading flowers', Bocchan. Because their 'heads' are naturally cut off."  
  
"......Beheading flowers?"  
  
"Yes. So, Bocchan, please keep them out of the house. My, you are soaked in snow! Where have you been?"  
  
"There are peony bushes along the east wall of the city."  
  
"East? That's by the cemetary! Bocchan..."  
  
"I know, Gremio. I'm sorry that I went there alone."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
That day, I left four crimson-petaled flowers lying on the snow-covered street before my house. Looking back, I regret having touched the accursed peonies. The nickname of "beheading flowers" proved true and snatched away the lives of four people several years later.  
  
Maybe Gremio knew more about the flowers than he told me, because when he was changing me out of the wet clothes, I noticed that his hands were trembling.  
  
I have no intention for irony when I place bouquets of peonies before my father, Ted, and Gremio's graves in Gregminster. I have no sentimental or bitter emotions when I throw those stemless flowers into the underground waterway in Lenan Camp. The only wish that I have is for the redness of the winter's blooms to spill over my body and sever the thread of my own life.  
  
Rather than me keeping up the contact with peonies, I think the irony lies in the beauty of scarlet flowers scattering over the snow. The east wall of Gregminster is still lined with the same shrubs, and every winter, when I sneak back into my hometown to pay respect to the dear ones, I see the white carpet of snow spotted with red of the beheaded flowers. I find that sight the most beautiful out of all spectacles of nature.  
  
Perhaps my appreciation for beauty is warped. Man-made battlefields splattered in blood, Gremio's long-lost golden tresses, my father's internal courage and valor, and the snow covered with peonies. I find them all very beautiful. Or perhaps, I only accept those memories and sights as colored images in my eyes and all else is gray.  
  
My life no longer holds meaning. I have no dream, no hope, no reason to even breathe, yet I shall remain as I am for the rest of the eternity until one blissful day, a strong one shall come and take my head. A strong someone with hands stained in the same red as that of the peonies.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	2. The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 1

DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series belong to Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.  
  
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The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 1  
by littlemaiko  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Kohaku hated it when the battles occured during the wrong seasons. Now, for instance, the squirmish by the Highland-Jowston border was taking place under the hot summer sun. He watched blood redden the dry earth, not at all impressed by the combination of brownish dirt and crimson liquid. He only liked the red with white, preferably the cold and moist white of the snow.  
  
"At least, there are enough people dying. All the lucky bunch..." The dark-haired boy murmured to himself, taking a seat beneath a large tree on a hill overlooking the battlefield. His bored eyes scanned over the dust-sheeted horizon, taking in spots of bloody splashes where lives were being taken.  
  
Humid wind carried the scent of blood, neither pleasing nor displeasing Kohaku's nostrils. He was used to such smell; it clung to his hands by now. Placing both arms over his tucked knees, he rested his pointed chin over the crossed forearms. If all the dying men didn't scream out so loudly, he would have drifted asleep in the comfort of the shade.  
  
"One, two, three... there goes four, five, six..."  
  
Kohaku counted the number of men he could see who went braced in Death's blissful grip. Envy crept into his mind at the sight of motionless bodies trampled beneath the war horses. He had long given up on the glorious death inside of a battlefield. The chances of meeting someone strong enough to overcome him in a combat was next to none. As long as he denied himself suicide, he had no hopes of meeting the end.  
  
// I wouldn't go against Gremio and father's wishes. Though I sometimes wish to just hang myself. //  
  
Touching his slender, boyish neck with a right hand, Kohaku tried squeezing there. He could just snap his own bone with the same hand, but he dared not. If he killed himself, he would forever be haunted in Hell with Gremio and Teo McDohl on his tail. The last thing he wanted was to have them disappointed.  
  
"But what else can I do? I don't want to be alone, Gremio. Father, why do you insist that I go on?" Kohaku closed his lightless brown eyes, reflecting upon the wishes of the two people most dear to him. Both of them, upon their deaths, had wished the boy to live and be honorable. His love for them tied him down to his currest miserable immortality. With his power of the True Rune, he could truthfully boast the strength of a thousand men. How then was he to find a way to die a death of a true warrior?  
  
For all the appreciation he had for the sight of a battle, Kohaku disliked the act of killing. Whenever he killed an enemy, he asked himself why he should grant eternal and much-sought-after rest to his opponents. To him, death was the ultimate prize to be won. He understood that others felt differently, but that did not matter to him. All he knew was what // he // wanted, anyway.  
  
"Why should I fight for others? Save them, kill them, whatever. I have no more obligation to do anything for anyone."  
  
Kohaku shook the bitterness out of his mind, for it never did any good. He didn't like remembering the Liberation War at Toran. For all the heroism the ignorant mass attributed to him, he had been but a puppet in a battle started by someone unrelated to him. Odessa Silverberg and her band of consciencious, misfortune-bringing do-gooders had disrupted with the young McDohl's life.  
  
// It doesn't matter now. //  
  
Nothing mattered to Kohaku now. He had long diagnosed himself to be a chronic depressive, taking no joy in life. Emotions slipped away from his mind along with every meaningless second passing by, leaving him less human. Only three years had passed since the despicable war, yet he had already lost the ability to laugh and cry.  
  
Another man went down in Kohaku's sight, hacked down by a man in a white armor. Although the boy didn't recognize the triumphant swordsman, he could tell that the man reveled in killjoy. The beautifully-wrought white and gold armor labeled him as a high-ranking officer, perhaps a general. Strong hands wielded a long sword to kill with the most efficiency, and Kohaku gave out an unconscious sigh of appreciation at how the red blood spotted over the man's garb.  
  
// Ah, snow and peonies. Beautiful... very beautiful. //  
  
Kohaku narrowed his eyes as though the very view of the blood-drenched swordsman would blind him with marvel. As he watched the further massacring of the weaker soldiers, he heard himself whisper in delirium, "He is the one."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	3. The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 2

DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series belong to Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.  
  
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The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 2  
by littlemaiko  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The leisure of taking a walk across the hill of corpses he had created gave Luca a strange relief from the constant rage at the world. He had become aware of his addiction to murder many years ago; a short moment of peace following the mass killing of men was his solace from the madness. It was a blissful, vicious cycle. The more he slew, stronger the returning madness and thus larger the scale of next slaughter.  
  
// What will I do when all the world has burned down to cinders? //  
  
Luca wondered, his powerful face taking on a look of a musing philosopher. In the privacy of a solitary stroll, he could afford to think about such things. His White Wolves had all retired to the camp by his orders. There was no one present to interrupt with his demented, thoughtful mind. Or so he thought. In a corner of his field of vision, a fallen enemy groaned. Frowning at the sloppy job his soldiers had done with the order of total annihilation, the prince unsheathed his sword and threw it to the injured man. The blade struck home, burying deep into the already bloody forehead. The body no longer moved, thus pleasing Luca.  
  
"Worthless pig." Muttering with an evil and smug grin, Luca steadied the fresh corpse's head with his armored foot and tugged out his sword. His cape was already tattered and ruined from the battle, so he wiped the bloodied blade with its hem. The pattern of crimson over the originally pure-white cape drew a curious interest. Chuckling and letting the stained fabric go, he resumed his lazy steps, the sword still in his hand.  
  
"Ha! All the Jowston pigs... shed more blood. Scream and moan in agony!" The wolf-like prince raised his voice over the hills of still bodies. The annoying fortress of Muse-hired mercenaries had been stormed down. The day for his return to that accursed Jowston capital was near.  
  
// Muse... //  
  
A sudden grimace contorted Luca's handsomeness as the unpleasant name of the hated city roused his memory. He didn't mind remembering, but the expression of crushing shame and suffering upon his mother's lovely face always made him reel. His beautiful mother's lithe body, the famed flower of L'Renouille, blotted from his eyes by filthy Musean soldiers. Only her emerald-like green eyes, pleading to him not to look, remained in full view as the hellish scene fast-forwarded.  
  
Luca would have given into the new surge of mad rage if he had not sensed someone moving close by. His attention returning to the present, he found a tiny figure in red tunic and green bandana hopping over the corpses. A boy, no older than fifteen. The sight of a slender youth only armed with a long staff puzzled Luca more than provoke him into using the sword as a javelin once again.  
  
Singing an old requiem of Red Moon Empire origin, the boy reached a glove-covered hand into the large cloth bag he held in the other. He pulled out a wad of medium-sized, vivid red flowers and sprinkled them over the dead, moving on in a light-footed step once he had dressed the bodies. The scarlet flowers colored the blood-soaked field with a more fresh hue, adding sickening sort of beauty to the scene.  
  
Luca did not move as the young stranger neared, transfixed by the budding curiosity and marvel at the unearthly sight. His own mind was a wonder to him, switching from one mood to another in a flash. All the murderous wish boiling from the memory of his mother's rape retreated to the recesses of his mind where it dwelt hidden. Only his right hand, used to the reflexive movement of cutting down whomever stood in his way, twitched to touch the handle of the silver-blade sword.  
  
"Halt."  
  
The Highland prince's simple command was obeyed right away. The boy was so close to Luca by that time that even the faded texture of the green bandana and glimmer of the red lacquer painted over the rod was clear to the eyes. Finding no expression in the youth's oriental face, a doubt of possible mockery pricked at Luca.  
  
// No, not mockery. Lack of emotions. //  
  
Reasoning in a rare calm state of mind, the tall man dismissed the irrational war-devil residing within him. Most likely, he would end this meeting with the slaying of the boy, but he would do so only after finding all he wanted about the mysterious child of red flowers.  
  
"What are you doing?" Luca questioned, his tone haughty yet even. He studied the younger one from head to toe, finding no supernatural beauty or observable power there. To dismiss the boy as a passerby, however, was not feasible. There was something about him that caught Luca's attention. The lightless brown eyes looking fearlessly up at him.  
  
"Only what you see. Singing songs and giving flowers to the dead. You've created quite a heap of corpses."  
  
The appreciative glance the boy cast over the field of broken bodies sent a tremble down Luca's spine. No, he did not shiver from terror. The boy was all too familiar, too similar to the prince himself. He could smell the scent of blood clinging about the boy, not from the recent battle here but the odor absorbed into one's frame through many years of killing. The youthful face, not at all unpleasant or ugly in the structure, glowed with dark somberness instead of the juvenile radiance typical of someone his age. If the somberness had been an insane rage, then Luca would have labeled the boy as the one suffering the same madness as himself.  
  
Ignoring Luca's silence, the lithe boy let a few more crimson flowers fall to the battle-disturbed ground. One of them fell right by the Highlander's foot. Large petals encased the thick batch of yellow stamen in the middle. No green leaves accompanied the severed bloom.  
  
"What is the name of this flower?"  
  
"Peony. Summer peony." The Asian boy offered a good-looking peony to Luca, not letting him take it but just to see it. "Peonies kill men. Or so the superstition goes, since the flower falls clean from the shrub as though it has been beheaded. You shouldn't touch it."  
  
// Hah. //  
  
"Give it to me, boy."  
  
"Do you want to die?" The soft alto of the teenager stayed flat and pleasant to the prince's ears.  
  
"No." Luca let a sinister grin distort his wolf-like handsome features. He waited until the boy placed a lovely peony upon his hand, feeling the silky texture of thick, red petals over his palm. Then, without a warning, he crushed the beautiful flower in a fist. "A mere flower will never kill me."  
  
"Perhaps." The boy's gaze followed the disfigured peony to the ground as they fell from Luca's opened hand. He curled his lips, too slightly for the man to ascertain if it was a smile. "What is your name?"  
  
The reply followed naturally. "Luca Blight."  
  
"I will see you again, Luca." With a graceful little bow of a nobleman, the boy turned his back to Luca and began to tread back the way he had come. His small hands still sprinkled the peonies about his path.  
  
// Wait... //  
  
Luca almost voiced the thought aloud, but he refrained from doing so. He watched the body clad in a dull-red tunic disappear from his sight, immersed in the silence that followed their parting. The few minutes which passed while the prince saw the stranger off slipped through Luca's grasp of time. He only lowered his dark gaze to the ground where the crushed peony lay amidst a puddle of drying blood.  
  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	4. The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 3

DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series belong to Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.  
  
====================  
  
The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 3  
by littlemaiko  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Kohaku didn't know whether to laugh or cry as he watched the madman fall beneath the blow of a tonfa. He'd witnessed the battle in its entirety, not with the usual appreciation for blood but out of the concern for the man he'd deigned to be the "strong one" to take his life. After a little investigation, he'd found out that the wolf-like man in white armor was Luca Blight, the Mad Prince of Highland. Tracking Luca had been more than easy, since every where the man went, warfare followed.  
  
// And the smell of blood leads to his own crimson pool... how ironic. //  
  
The boy toyed with his loose hold on the staff, feelings its solemn heaviness. He could have gone and saved Luca, but he had withheld from doing so. It was not his place to go and change history; if Luca Blight were to die here, then his intuition had been wrong. He had no need for someone so weak.  
  
"So you aren't the one... What a shame."  
  
Shaking his head, Kohaku took up the role of a hidden spectator. A long-haired, slender Asian who looked like a strategist walked up to the victorious boy whom Kohaku guessed to be the leader of JSCA. The two conversed, too quietly for the young McDohl to hear, and the young boy shook his head to whatever had been told of him. Then, the whole army disbanded, chasing off the remaining Highland soldiers and leaving Luca's body untouched.  
  
The discarding of the primary enemy's corpse surprised Kohaku. He pieced everything together; the strategist had suggested to behead Luca and the boy had declined. The naive kindness amused Kohaku into chuckling darkly. He remembered himself sparing Millich and other generals who had been under the control of Windy. The memory of the beautiful witch pained him, almost until the back of his eyes burned. He had triumphed over her, but the price had been too high. Had he the chance, he would have never gotten involved in her business. After somehow rescuing Ted, he would have...  
  
// No use. Shut up... shut... up!!!! //  
  
Kohaku rammed his left hand, having let go of the staff and clenched into a fist, into the nearby tree. He felt no pain, although the impact shook the trunk of the medium-sized arbor. Shutting his eyes to kill the threatening tears, he leaned upon his staff like an old man. He felt so old, yet he was young enough to remember everything with painful clearness. The darkness settling into the abandoned forest only made him concentrate more on what he'd rather not think of.  
  
"What use is thinking? Stop it, Kohaku McDohl! Let everything go... all except for death!!" Raising his voice in rare occasion, Kohaku screamed up to the night sky obscured by the trees.  
  
"...Who's t-there...?"  
  
The faint voice, ragged and hindered by labored breaths, filled the utter silence of the woods after Kohaku's outcry had echoed out. Drawn by certain astonishment, the boy in red tunic hastened to the source of the feeble question.  
  
Luca Blight lay like an insect that had been stomped by a soft-soled shoe. His limbs were intact, none of his garments torn from his body, yet blood streamed from various places wounded by arrows and cuts. He hacked out a little blood, the sign of intestinal damage. For all the evidence of a dying state, the Mad Prince's dark eyes glared without death's fog clouding over them. The intense gaze snared the oriental youth in the night.  
  
"You......."  
  
"Good evening, Luca Blight. You have lost." Kohaku spoke flatly, kneeling down by the fallen man. He reached to feel the pulse at the blood-colored neck and was surprised to find a rather strong beating there.  
  
"Have you... come to see the curse of that flower... fulfilled?" The injured warrior-prince demanded, fire still burning in him. He reached up his left hand with amazing strength and captured Kohaku by the neck, squeezing. "Mere flower will... NEVER kill me!!"  
  
// Impressive, he is. I was not mistaken. //  
  
The choking cut off the youth's voice. Pleased by the power of the large hand, Kohaku gripped at Luca's thick wrist and pulled away by force. It was difficult; he smiled at the danger the hand presented upon him. Not wishing to be interrupted by futile fighting, however, he let go of the defiant arm and stepped on it harshly to keep it pinned to the leaf-covered ground. Luca didn't even groan, but neither did he put up further resistance. His right arm did not move an inch.  
  
"You are right. The curse of the peonies have not killed you. Don't fight, Luca. I will help you, for a price."  
  
Kohaku's rather delicate, young face illuminated dimly in the darkness; Luca's eyes widened just a little at the pain-filled and demonic calm expression. The madman did not flinch, however. He only breathed with effort and curled his hand pinned beneath the boy's foot into a fist.  
  
"What do you seek, ...demon?"  
  
"Demon? You are closer to the truth than you think, Luca Blight. I only ask for death in return to your life. I will nurse you back to health and when you are well... I want you to kill me in a fair match."  
  
"And if I refuse..."  
  
Curling his lips without creating a smile of any sort, Kohaku increased the pressure of his foot resting upon Luca's wrist. He eased a moment before breaking the prince's bone, opting to just let go entirely and kneel back down instead. He pulled off his green bandana and wiped at the blood on the other's handsome face.  
  
"You will not refuse, though. I can see in your eyes, Luca. The will to live, the light I do not have." Kohaku whispered, his voice dripping with strange envy. His affection for death was a double-sided mirror; he would earn the needed relief with regaining of the will to live, too. Dying was the easier way out, however, since nothing would make him want to live again. There was simply nothing left for him worth living for.  
  
Luca did not answer, for he had lost consciousness. The young McDohl did not mind; he already knew what the Mad Prince wanted. The vengeful flame still filled the man's soul.  
  
"Then you shall live, Luca." Kohaku's brown gaze traveled to the masterpiece sword that lay next to Luca's body. Despite all the fighting it had endured, the sharp blade had not chipped at all. He sighed softly as he reached for its white-gold handle, already dreaming of the day it would impale through his body and free his spirit.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	5. The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 4

DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series belong to Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.  
  
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The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 4  
by littlemaiko  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dreaming proved difficult when one suffered too much pain. Luca cast away the sleep altogether and slitted his dark eyes open, not expecting to see what he saw. Plain, wooden ceiling hung over his vision instead of a white, canvas-fabric tent of the military troops or the glass chandelier of the L'Renouille palace. He shifted his head to see to the sides, and found a boy in green bandana whom he recognized.  
  
"You..."  
  
// The demon of beheaded peonies... //  
  
The title that sprang in Luca's mind suited the Asian boy well. The lithe youth still wore the same faded-red tunic and bandana, his light-colored eyes devoid of expressions. He carried no flower now, instead occupying his gloved hands with a roll of white bandage. He had Luca's right hand on his lap, tending to numerous cuts etched over the muscular arm.  
  
"I'm almost done. Stay still, Luca."  
  
"Where is this?" Luca asked, his voice coming out weaker than ever. He did not have the full grasp of the situation just yet. From the feel of thin coverlet over his body, he figured that he was nude and wrapped in bandages here and there. He could see the entire room just with a circular movement of his gaze; the wooden room served as a house, a small cot of logs furnished with just enough to distinguish it from a deserted storage. There were windows, only two of them and both too small to let much sun into the space.  
  
"The place where I eat and sleep."  
  
The soft voice of the youth almost did not reach Luca's ears. "How far is it from L'Renouille? Or Muse?"  
  
"That doesn't matter. You won't be leaving here for a long while." Having finished with the patching job, the boy gently placed Luca's right arm on the bed.  
  
A terrible frown dressed the Highlander's face, but the boy shrugged the look away in complete nonchalance. No one had ever behaved in such fashion before Luca; the indifference, the utter lack of fear and even seeming courage or other bravery, bothered the prince.  
  
"Who are you?" Luca demanded with a glare.  
  
"That doesn't matter, either, but if you need a name... call me Kohaku." With that, the slender youth stood from the simple wooden chair he had placed next to the bed to tend to his captive.  
  
"Kohaku... Kohaku McDohl." Luca recalled the name of the famous hero of the Toran Republic. The revelation explained much of the boy's strength and noble air carried by him. However, the prince could not place the famed name with the ghost-like boy. There was no trace of heroic charisma inside of the Kohaku before his eyes nor the valiant light of a righteous revolutionary.  
  
"My name travels far, I suppose. Kohaku McDohl, the hero of Liberation War." Chuckling without glee, Kohaku dragged the chair to a matching wooden table without any decoration. He didn't speak to Luca, didn't even look at him, as he went to the tiny closet to the side of the room to change into a simple shirt and pants. The red tunic he had cast off had large stains of deeper crimson, obviously spots of blood.  
  
// My blood. Did he carry me here? //  
  
Luca pondered in the boredom that befell him. Kohaku showed no interest in him; stretching a few times like a child his physical appearance made him seem to be, the boy slipped off his gloves and sat against the wall next to the bed. He rested his head on the tucked knees and fell motionless.  
  
Understanding that Kohaku had given him the only bed available, Luca watched the boy fall asleep. He could tell by the soft breathing sound he heard; the lack of alarm almost made him scoff, but the young McDohl truly had no need to be alert. Although it made him bitter to admit it, Luca knew that he'd cause no trouble for Kohaku with his injuries.  
  
// Hah, I will get him sooner or later. //  
  
The thought triggered the memory of the conversation right before he had passed out, making Luca cease his beginning snicker. Kohaku had bargain with him, that he'd be saved in return for killing the boy in a match. Furrowing his dark brows, the Mad Prince forgot his pains and wondered why the youth would want to die. Death was a coward's way out, or so Luca had always thought. He had sought revenge instead when the tragedy at Muse with his mother occurred. Of course, suicide had appealed to him at a younger age, but...  
  
"Why do you wish to die?"  
  
Kohaku looked up, surprising Luca, who had assumed the other to be asleep. "I'm tired of breathing."  
  
Luca swallowed any mocking comments he might have had for someone else. The oriental youth meant what he said; there was a resolution in those light-brown eyes which the prince had never seen before in those he had slain. Kohaku's gaze reflected a deep longing for the eternal rest.  
  
"That all you ask of me, then. To kill you." The wolf-like prince licked at his lips, directing his attention to the ceiling, although he found nothing of interest there.  
  
"I can't ask you for more, Luca. If you grant me death, I will forever be indebted to you."  
  
For the first time, Luca saw the boy smile. No, his eyes were turned away from the young face, but he felt the lightless smile in Kohaku's voice. He knew that the smile would have reminded him of fallen peonies had he seen it; just like the beautiful flower cut off from its source of life and awaiting to wither.  
  
  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	6. The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 5

DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series belong to Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.  
  
====================  
  
The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 5  
by littlemaiko  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The first of the winter's snow graced Kohaku's vision when he stepped out of the cot. He had a worn-out green mantle wrapped about him, a piece of cloth so precious to him that he seldom wore it. It was a little too long, so he wrapped his head in it as well. The snow came up to his ankles, very flurry in its just-fallen state.  
  
"Luca." Kohaku looked back into the log-built residence, addressing the tall man dining at the plain table.  
  
The Highlander prince did not answer, but he shifted his dark gaze to Kohaku. Four months after the supposed death by the hands of JSCA fighters, Luca was almost recovered to full health. His right hand still moved with slight awkwardness caused by the injury, but otherwise, his strength had returned with a vengeance. Putting down the spoon with which he had been eating the stew, he raised an eyebrow and waited for the boy to speak more.  
  
"I want you to see something."  
  
Rising from the small wooden chair at Kohaku's beckoning, Luca joined the other at the doorway. The chilly air pricked at his skin beneath the thin white shirt and pants which he wore. He saw the snow, but he did not share the young McDohl's wonder at the sight. Rather, his eyes were drawn to the specks of red on the white ground.  
  
"...Peonies." Luca acknowledged the flowers scattered all over the clearing about the cot. During the course of his recovery, he had not paid attention to the view outside. He realized that all the bushes that surrounded the small house were peony bushes. The winter peonies in full bloom.  
  
"Beautiful sight, isn't it? The snow covered with peonies. There are only few things I find beautiful in this world and this is one of them."  
  
Kohaku's voice gained just a tint of liveliness as he marveled over the mixture of pure white with spots of crimson petals. Breathing out white mist, he stepped out and picked up the peony closest to the door. He held the large bloom in his gloved hands, not enjoying its aroma nor texture but just the color and the lack of stem and leaves.  
  
"You see blood in the color." Guessing right, Luca joined Kohaku over the thin snow. His bare feet felt the iciness acutely, but he shrugged the cold away like he would have done any obstacle. He picked up a flower for himself and looked at it in the gleaming light from the sky and that reflecting off of the silvery ground. Although he studied the comely 'beheaded flower' closely, he did not find the great beauty Kohaku praised.  
  
"Not just any blood, Luca. This is the same color as the blood from a dead body." Kohaku held the flapping hem of the green mantle and drew the cloth tightly about his lithe frame. His downcast gaze turned melancholic, even sad; that was the most emotion the prince had ever seen on the boy. "I can't wait for the day you spray the same scarlet color over me..."  
  
Many words from the former hero of Toran puzzled Luca, but none did so more than the repeated wish for death. Crushing the peony in a large hand and letting it fall to the snow, the wolf-like prince gave out a foggy sigh. He didn't see the need to trouble himself over someone who was suicidal; all that he was required to do by the honor of their deal was to kill Kohaku McDohl. Certainly, he had no hesitation in murdering the youth.  
  
"I will, sooner or later." Luca turned his back to the still-marveling boy, getting his feet out of the snowy clearing before he suffered a frostbite. He intended to just slam the door behind him, but an unexplainable fancy made him glance back at the doorway. All he could do to contain a gasp was to clutch harder at the rusty knob. In his dark eyes, Kohaku stood in the same peony-filled snow, wearing the old green mantle that was too long for him. The boy had the golden-brown eyes upon the Mad Prince, pink lips curled ever so slightly in a serene, mirthless smile. Darkness hovered about the boy's entire frame, the cursed shadow that had not been there before now visible. It consumed Kohaku yet did not hinder Luca from seeing the boy.  
  
The calm pitch black drew Luca's heart as no other sight had before. Like a lover yearning for his beloved, he took an unconscious step toward Kohaku; he caught himself when the snow gave his toes the needle-like cold pain. His mind cleared, allowing him to study the beautiful dark shadow. It flickered, reaching out like a woman's hand to caress over his cheek and nape, then disappeared altogether.  
  
"Luca?" Kohaku tilted his head a little in a questioning manner.  
  
"...It is nothing." The trance wore off completely, leaving Luca in a rare state of peace and contentment. He felt as though he had seen the Heaven's gate. The notion and its irony made him chuckle in a sinister glee.  
  
"Luca?" The Asian boy repeated his inquiry, frowning in concern for his precious source of death.  
  
Luca shrugged away Kohaku's worry. "I said, it is nothing."  
  
Leaving the young McDohl outside, Luca entered the cot and sat down at the bed that had practically become his. His mind was on the soothing darkness that he had seen. Somehow, he was sure that if he immersed in its soundless stillness, he would be rid of the turbulent madness that haunted him.  
  
"...I understand now. Death is the blissful end to all pain." Luca whispered to himself, crossing his fingers together upon his lap. He appreciated the beauty of the snow covered with peonies more after having seen the depths of the 'end'.  
  
  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	7. The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 6

DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series belong to Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.  
  
====================  
  
The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 6  
by littlemaiko  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The morning of duel came with expected abruptness. It was expected, for the promise had been made many months ago. The abruptness was due to Kohaku's seeming uplifted mood in the winter's season. The boy had decorated the entire cot with fallen peony flowers, placing blooms here and there until the overall brown hue became dotted with prominent red. Luca stared at his sword placed upon the table for a second before nodding in a silent consent. He should have known that this day would be the one, for the awkwardness of his right arm had gone away by the last night.  
  
"Today, then." Kohaku returned the nod and went back to the barren kitchen to stir the stew.  
  
Watching the oriental teenager's tunic-clad back, Luca thought of unimportant, peaceful details of four and half months they had spent together. Neither of them had spoken more than necessary, their conversations often dark and musing, the common theme being that of death. Even then, the Highlander had gotten to know Kohaku well; he felt no remorse at the inevitable parting to come in a few hours, but he did regret that he would never taste the hot cream stew again.  
  
// Once the madness wears off, all that is left is pain. Was it the same for him? //  
  
After a few days of living in the secluded nowhere with a chronic depressive as a sole company, Luca's self-induced madness had gone away. Whether he had been cured or he had subconsciously shrugged it off, he did not know. If there had been a miracle cure, then he attributed it to the sight of magnificent darkness that he had seen about Kohaku. He felt calm yet somber, never angry yet always haunted with dark thoughts. From the comparison he made with the sullen boy, it dawned upon him that he had become depressive. Painless agony hurt more than violent outbursts; the state of depression sapped at him much more than the insane fury.  
  
Luca pulled the silver sword out of the sheath half way, examining the blade to see if it needed to be cared for before the match. Apparently, Kohaku had polished and oiled it before hiding it away. For something that had been abandoned for over a quarter of a year, the sword etched with golden royal crest shone with a flesh light.  
  
"Do you need a while to reorient to fighting?" The boy returned to the simple table and placed the pot of stew before Luca. Free of the green bandana that usually kept his hair in place, he looked younger than his seeming age of fourteen.  
  
"Hah, do you think I would have rusted in my technique?" Curling his lips in a superficial smirk, Luca stored the sharp blade back into the sheath. He put the sword away, to the side of the chair, and picked up a spoon instead.  
  
"No. I just felt like asking. I haven't touched the staff in a long time, either." Kohaku shrugged and took the seat across from the prince, glancing briefly at the red staff kept to a corner of the cot. It had collected dust, the masterful lacquer color obscured by a layer of such.  
  
"Perhaps // you // should reorient yourself. I'll take no joy in killing a pathetic fighter."  
  
"It's a perfect handy, Luca." Replying without arrogance, Kohaku served the stew in two bowls. He began to eat, completely ignoring the darker look the older man gave him.  
  
The single-entree lunch ended without a word being uttered over the table. There was no cue needed, for Kohaku and Luca both rose, one going to the kitchen to do the dishes and other slinging the sword belt to his waist. With the final chore done, the youth wrapped the old green cape about himself, donned the bandana and went to his weapon. One fast twirl shook the gray sheet of dust off of its length.  
  
"No armor. No rules. Just a plain, one-on-one match until one of us dies." The young McDohl's voice, devoid of any feelings, beckoned Luca to the door.  
  
"What of magic?"  
  
"...No magic. I will not use the Soul Eater."  
  
The snow still covered much of the ground despite the consecutive sunny days that had followed the first falling. Beautiful scarlet peonies adorned the glistening white, their miserable beheaded state not hindering the perfection of the visual scene. Each clad in a pair of dark boots that Kohaku had supplied, the two fighters tread shortly away from the cot. They stood two dozen steps apart, barely close enough to see into the dark eyes.  
  
"Do you have any final requests, Kohaku McDohl?" Luca tapped at the handle of his sword, then took a slow grip to draw the silver blade out.  
  
"None, Luca Blight." In a pleasant mood devoid of a smile, the youth readied his staff, holding it to his side with just the right hand. On the second thought, he replied, "Bury me afterwards in a respectable manner. I don't want to shame my father by having my corpse eaten by some wild beast."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
A solemn tranquil fell over the clearing much like the untainted snow. Luca moved first, then Kohaku. The liquid, yet crisp, sound of feet over snowy earth died the instant the weapons crashed. In hands of genius soldiers, a staff and a sword became as deadly as a Reaper's scythe. Mastery granted godspeed to their blows, shortening the length of the promised duel. One miscalculation, a single loss of grip or a slip, would decide the victor.  
  
// Something prohibited him from committing suicide. Even with the strength of a True Rune, he could do naught to find the end. But me... I will not have that problem. //  
  
Luca parried the almost invisible quick thrusts of the metal-dressed end of the staff. He could not afford to think any more than he had just now; although his code of honor was different from that of Kohaku, he intended to keep the vow to the boy. He would deal with himself later, when he had more time to reflect over everything.  
  
The long green mantle floated in a circular wave as Kohaku whirled to avoid the wolf-like man's slashes. The hem of the fabric caught the blade, severed by a several inches. Back to the position of facing his opponent, the lithe youth swung the lacquered rod.  
  
Whether by intention or luck, Kohaku lost his footing over the thin ice that had formed beneath the snow. Luca snatched up the chance that was granted to him; the last blow drew a trail of thick red in its arched path.  
  
Light brown eyes shone golden in a passing reflection of the sunlight, smiling up to Luca's face before disappearing in the boy's collapse. There was no struggle, no outcry, no moans of pain. Kohaku just lay in the soft heap of white snow in the end befitting of a former hero. The red spreading from his upper body drew a crimson pattern on the melting canvas, similar to the peonies over snow.  
  
  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	8. The Snow Covered with Peonies :: Epilogu...

DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series belong to Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.  
  
====================  
  
The Snow Covered with Peonies :: Epilogue  
by littlemaiko  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"You suddenly like peonies."  
  
"Bah, I do not."  
  
"You do, Luca. You don't crush them like you used to."  
  
"...You call these 'beheading flowers'. Who told you?"  
  
"Gremio."  
  
"Elaborate."  
  
"...Gremio, the manservant who raised me in place of my mother. He had the prettiest blond hair. He died because of me."  
  
"I see."  
  
"You are not a very good listener."  
  
"I never was. Go on with the story."  
  
"There is nothing more to the story. Gremio told me to keep the flowers out of the house and I did, though that did nothing to prevent him from dying. I killed him. I killed everyone. ...I have killed everyone for whom I could have lived for."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
That short conversation with Kohaku McDohl gave me reasons to mock him for the weakness, but I now see that I am no better off. As much as it shames me to admit, I follow the same path that he had tread. The path to death.  
  
No, I refuse to give in to the sentimentality of grief for the lost ones. Those who are gone are gone. Whether by my hands or... like my mother, a victim to despicable tragedy, the dead are not to be mourned over. I cannot be sure if this philosophy came into play from the self-defense of a child that I was at the time of the visit to Muse.  
  
I have killed many, Jowstonian pigs and others who had stood in my mad rampage. Although I feel no regret, I look back to the days of the Dunan Unification War and feel empty at the lack of its accomplishments. All that I had done was destroy cities and wipe out the populace. Nothing about the world had changed. Somewhere, some day, or perhaps every day, the same dastardly fate that had befallen my mother crashes over another woman. Perhaps it would be by the hands of Highlander men.  
  
The utter hollowness that resides within my bosom now is the same as the one that had haunted the young demon of the snow peonies. He had taught me the bliss in awaiting the eternal darkness. In him, I had seen the truth of what I had wanted all along. Beneath the madness, there had always been the desire to depart from this world. Whether I destroyed the world or it destroyed me, it would not have mattered.  
  
I shall soon destroy myself. The sword that I hold now, the one that had ended the equally miserable life of an immortal child, will grant me what I seek. In this clearing filled with the snow covered with peonies, I have buried Kohaku McDohl. I wonder if the color of my blood will be the same crimson as that of his dying blood and the beheaded flowers scattered exquisitely over the white? I have yet to find it out.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
